


Inversing Allocation

by Interjection



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Character Development, Character Study, Gen, Hermitcraft season 6, I will take the tropes, Metafiction, No beta we die like the Evolutionists in ATUS, Not terribly graphic but it's described in some amount of detail so be warned, The Watchers never show up here btw, This is totally inspired by the ATUS brigade like how can a Watcher fic not be, Violence, Watcher Grian, What Have I Done, Winged Charles | Grian, and smash them against an end city, and smear the blood all over this fic, don't think I won't, hermitcraft season 7, ish, mostly just from swordfights because Minecraft, oh Mojang this is a parody isn't it, takes place over 2 seasons, that's like saying your vampire fiction isn't influenced by Bram Stoker's Dracula lol, uhhh Grian backstory?, unless you count Grian as one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27688409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interjection/pseuds/Interjection
Summary: Five times a Hermit pretended they didn’t see Grian’s wings (and the one time serious questions were actually raised).Or, Grian’s Watcher status was Hermitcraft’s worst kept secret.
Comments: 106
Kudos: 561





	1. Chapter 1

As the newest, and for the first time, single new hermit to join at the beginning of a season, Xisuma had decided to allow Grian into the Season 6 world first. It gave him some time to get acclimated with the environment before meeting the other Hermits, which he hoped would perhaps ease that nervous paranoia that seemed to trail their newest addition like a haunting shadow.

He motioned for Grian to follow him through the portal.

The spawn island came into clear view, oceans rolling to the vast horizons with an explosion of new life from the update. Sunlight parted the formerly murky depths to show a clear, vibrant world below the lapping waves. Shaded green seagrass clung to every surface it could reach amidst twisting corals, and iridescent fish of every color schooled around like darting rainbows of the sea. 

Xisuma smiled, taking in a fresh, salty breeze unlike anything he'd ever experienced. A pair of turtles sunbathed nearby, regarding him with inquisitive looks. Looking down on his green plated armor, Xisuma had a moment of giddy realization at the similarities.

But. Back to the task at hand.

"Alright Grian, I just need to ask a few questions before I get the others," Xisuma said, turning back towards the portal.

A flash of tinted purple caught his eyes, and Xisuma froze.

Grian blinked, before following Xisuma's gaze to the pair of large, feathery wings that rested on his back.

He seemed to shrink back towards the portal at Xisuma's stare, and his expression was a flash of pure, raw panic before he wretched his head away. The wings quivered, and Xisuma caught himself thinking that, despite all the negative associations he'd come to have with the Watchers, the way the dazzling, almost mind bending white faded into a deep, voidly purple was strangely beautiful.

Though Xisuma already knew from Mumbo’s requests, it still caught him off guard.

"Like I said, questions," he cleared his throat. Grian nodded frantically. The wings begin to flash in and out of transparency.

"Did Mumbo explain to you the district concept?" Xisuma asked, just as the wings disappeared completely. To his surprise, he found himself mildly disappointed. The wings were… fascinating, when on a Watcher that wasn't trying to kill him.

"Yes," Grian mumbled.

"And you know our rules? They're sort of unspoken, but we need to be clear about it."

"Y-yes," Grian said, lifting his head at last. Despite the wobbly tone, his eyes were now steeled and gave away nothing. 

"And is your communicator registered to this world?" Xisuma asked. Normally, he wouldn't even bother asking - he always had to calibrate the communicators to a new world, for both old and new Hermits alike. But Grian was a special case, and perhaps…

"It is," Grian mumbled. "It does that automatically, to whatever world I go in."

Xisuma had never heard someone sound so miserable at the idea, so often he and other admins found it such a tedious chore. He patted Grian's stiffened shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

"One last thing," he said, glancing at his panels. "Before I go back to let the others in, is there any… special code that I should be worried about?"

"Like..." Grian inched backwards ever so slightly, and Xisuma thought he saw him squash a fleeting look of terror. 

"Mumbo told you I know, right?" Xisuma asked. 

“Yes, but-” Grian broke off, looking down. “It’s - it’s the code is what you would expect, anyway.”

Xisuma nodded. Though more information would have been nice, he could work with that. There was no need to stress him out further.

"I promise, Hermitcraft has accepted many types of players and mobs from all sorts of backgrounds," he said. Something like guilt twinged within him, but Xisuma pushed it down. Now was not the time to consider its implications. "It won't mean a difference to any of us. We judge you by what you do from now on."

"I..." Grian glanced around, as though the shadows could hide any predator in the universe. 

"There's no one in this world but us," Xisuma assured. "The others haven't gone through the portal yet."

"I think you know who I’m hiding from," Grian sighed. “I just - I don’t want to talk about it if I don’t have to. Sorry.”

Xisuma studied the strangely glitched symbols that made up Grian's code, a few of which were dangerously familiar.

But Hermitcraft had harbored the dangerous before. Grian would not be the first, and he would not be the last.

"Sure," Xisuma murmured. Grian blinked. "If you don't want to say anymore, that's fine." That was enough to gleam, roughly, what he should expect anyway. Plenty of Hermits never talked about their past, and all of them had agreed to the principle when they agreed to let Grian in. 

“And I won’t say anything to the others either,” Xisuma added. “You have a right to that secrecy.”

Grian had a strange mixture of relief and hesitancy in the way he nodded. Hopefully, time would heal that wound as well.

"I'll arrive with the others shortly," Xisuma said, turning back to the portal. "Feel free to take a look around the new ocean - it’s quite beautiful."

The last thing Xisuma saw before warping back to the Season 5 world was Grian carefully erasing any trace of fear or apprehension from his expression, and replacing it with a stretched smile that didn't reach his wide, blank eyes at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy most things I want to say here I've said in the tags. This is basically something that both pokes fun at and pays tribute to the whole Watcher Grian craze that made up the latter half of HC S6's fanfiction days. Hopefully, chapters will come out relatively quickly as they're shorter than what I usually write and I only need to do some editing for most of them. Though rest assured, most if not all the other chapters will be longer than this one.
> 
> Please consider a comment?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for tridents being used for their pointy purposes. Skip the paragraph that begins with “Grian had not been so lucky” if you don't want to read about it.

"Behind you!"

Grian heeded Iskall's warning just in time, batting away an incoming slash. 

Wels recoiled swiftly, eyes narrowed in concentration as he drew back his sword in for another strike.

Iskall held a baited breath, but thankfully, Grian had the reaction time to leap away.

Leap away, and run away, since elytras had been banned from use in the war. A strategy which, unfortunately, did not have nearly as high an escape rate.

Grian seemed to have a solution for that too, however.

"Iskall! Help me!" he shrieked as he sprinted towards his teammate. Wels’ heavy footsteps clinked and thudded behind him, hot on his trail.

"I'm low too!" Iskall yelped, and instead of fighting Wels like Grian had probably hoped, they turned and ran also. 

Becoming Grian’s meatshield was not on their agenda, and they were keeping it that way.

"Come back and face me, cowards!" Wels called. To Iskall's relief, the words were getting softer, the battlefield's cackling fires and clanging swords slowly drowning their pursuer's call.

A pained yelp sounded behind them.

Iskall whirled around just in time to see a trident sing through the air, right on course to smash through their skull. A sword parried it back with a shuddering clang and it reluctantly returned into the misty fields, owner invisible amidst fog and smoke.

Grian had not been so lucky. He was sprawled on loose, coarse dirt, breathing audibly ragged as he clutched at three lined puncture holes in his shoulder, blood streaming darkly from each in equal measure.

"Get up!" Iskall yelled. Grian scrambled to heed words, hastily throwing himself away from whoever had thrown the trident in a flurry of panicked footsteps-

_Click-click._

_Hisssss..._

Everything around them seemed to slow to a halt. Grian's eyes widened imperceptibly, full of shock and horrified realization as both came to the same conclusion about the very ground below them.

Iskall registered a tsunami of hot, furious wind battering every nerve of their body - and then, suddenly, they were dragged upwards with a blinding speed unlike any which could be achieved with an elytra. 

Woolen fabric dug beneath their arms, uncomfortably tight, and Iskall realized that by some means they were dangling firmly in Grian's grasp. 

They winced as they watched the giant explosion rocked through the world beneath them. A shower of dirt and ash followed its trail, though most of the sight was lost in a sea of smoky clouds. The explosion left a deep, jarring sensation in their ears that they had to shake their heads a few times to recover from.

Twin communicators pinged. Iskall flicked to the screen in his eye.

_Welsknight blew up._

_Docm77 blew up._

They both remained silent, staring down.

 _Well,_ Iskall thought faintly. _That just happened._

The two of them hovered there for a few more minutes. From their position it was impossible to look up, but if they had somehow managed a glimpse they were rather sure of what they would see.

A few more quiet, hanging moments floated past. 

Iskall cleared their throat.

"So… are we going back down?" It was hard to imagine, after all, how this could be comfortable for Grian either.

"O-Oh!" Grian gave a high-pitched laugh. "Down. Right. Go down."

They descended, and soon the pearly white of G-Team's base came into view. Iskall narrowed their eyes against the sharpening wind as they rushed faster and faster towards landing.

So fast, in fact, that Grian dropped them while still a dozen blocks in the air.

Iskall tucked into a roll as their body jolted against smooth, cold concrete, spine twisting in an arched somersault. They uncurled onto relatively steady footing just as a panicked looking Grian stumbled down in front of them.

"Sorry!" His gasp was short and wheezy and he struggled to steady himself. Iskall reached out to grip his shoulder firmly.

They stood on the roof against battering, biting wind as Grian's breath slowly steadied. Iskall took the opportunity to eye his wings, hung like limp, dangling vines against his shoulders.

"Well… that happened," they said, repeating the loop in their minds.

Grian mutely nodded. The wings, despite their ragged, fraying state, were still boldly demanding of attention. 

_Not unlike their owner_ , Iskall thought wryly. 

Marbled white tops quickly faded into deep, royal purple, each feather a delicate yet hardened curve. Iskall wondered what it would feel like to run their fingers through the interwoven layers, and was almost tempted to try.

Grian probably wouldn't appreciate that. He already had enough to worry over.

Although... the rules technically prohibited _elytras_ , not _flying._ There was possibility in that.

Iskall shifted their feet. Grian was staring blankly at them - through them. 

Wait. Oh dear. Oh dear, they had to be the one to say something, didn’t they? Grian wasn’t saying anything.

What were they supposed to say? 

“It’s freezing up here, isn’t it?” they asked, grasping at the first thing that came to mind. “And really windy. Maybe we shouldn’t have made our base such a tall tower.” 

It was true, at the very least. Iskall counted that as a conversation win.

“...maybe,” Grian said after a pause. 

“Though you seem to really like your towers,” they attempted to chuckle. “With your base and all. And this light concrete block palette.”

“Mhm.” Grian was quiet. It was almost unnerving, Iskall realized. They couldn’t recall another instance where their newest member was so uncharacteristically silent, especially not in the middle of an event like this.

Perhaps it was the wings. 

It was probably the wings. 

“Do you love towers or something?” they asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No - not particularly,” Grian said. “I’m just used to building them. Figured I should at least use a structure I’m familiar with when I build with new blocks palettes. Higher chance of it not turning out a complete mess that way.”

“Oh, nice.” Challenging themselves with new types of builds - Hermitcraft certainly respected that idea. And Iskall had heard Grian was more well known for builds of older styles.

It made sense, they supposed.

Grian merely nodded and continued staring down at the battlefield.

The silence stretched on. Iskall wondered what Grian was thinking. And they had to get down soon, with a war to win. 

"That was a nice save," they said, switching tactics. They glanced down as well. No one appeared to have noticed them yet, though Tango’s faint yelling could be heard in the distance, stretched and thrown by the wind around them. Iskall blinked as a downy purple feather caught their hair.

They pulled it out and shoved it in their pocket.

Grian's expression was still, but a flicker of apprehension seemed to spark as his eyes lost their glassiness. Iskall tried to smile reassuringly in reply.

"They blew up so fast I doubt either of them saw our majestic escape," they added, grinning. "Such a shame, but I suppose this will have to remain another untold tale."

"R-right," Grian murmured, and Iskall laughed in reply. A twine of unease flitted through them as, finally, Grian's wings flashed and disappeared into thin air, but it passed just as quickly and they refused to let any part of that tiny, fearful doubt show. It was the last thing Grian needed right now.

"Well, shall we get back on the field?" Iskall prompted, pointing at the roof entrance to the G-Team base. "There's still one last flag to steal, after all."

A hesitant smile appeared on Grian's face as he nodded. It wasn't perfect - but then again, emotional support by Iskall rarely ever was.

For now, as they found their way down a staircase while scheming ideas about how to best tackle the maze that was Team Star's base, Iskall decided to not bring it up again at all. Despite burning curiosity, there was still much more trust to be built between Grian and the Hermits. 

They did hope, though, that Grian wouldn't take too long to become proper friends with everyone. Perhaps Iskall could give him a nudge some other way, after this war was over...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more action in this one, heh. The further along we go the more self aware the writing becomes in some ways, and I'm eager to see what kind of slippery slope I can guide it on without ending in complete nonsense. 
> 
> As always, any sort of feedback is always appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

Tango grinned, racing across the glass ceiling to check on Zedaph. Conveniently, right as he glimpsed the Hermit begin to munch on a carrot, a beautiful, signature _hiss_ slithered across his ears.

Zedaph yelped, throwing himself across the water. His face slammed into concrete. 

An explosion shook the walls below. As the smoke cleared, it revealed him to be rattled, but decidedly alive. Tango chuckled at the sight.

A muffled sigh of frustration rose through the glass from Grian, just a few blocks away.

Tango leaned forward eagerly, watching Grian continue to chase down his opponent. With all the updates that had passed since he first designed the game, this had to be his best iteration of Boom Box yet.

"Mumbo! Get Zedaph, he has the flag!" Grian called. 

"W-Wait! I have a speed potion for you!!" Mumbo's voice called somewhere from behind. Tango turned around, glimpsing Zedaph wading through the water towards his team's side. His teammate, C- _Xisuma,_ seemed to be also headed for it. Both teams only had to transport one more flag back to their side before they won, Tango realized. Since Zedaph had a flag, Grian would need to catch up soon.

He smiled, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. This was going to be one close game.

"Mumbo!" Grian yelled again. "Cut him off!" 

A nearby barrel crossed his view, tucked into the concrete walls, and he slowed his slog through the waterlogged floors for a moment to open it. Tango walked over, watching as Grian hastily shoved a few more TNT into his pockets.

Zedaph was only a few blocks ahead, desperately wading away, having been slowed by a dead end in the maze that was the arena. Grian quickly threw himself against the water in an attempt to catch up. 

The waist-high water level coupled with only a two block height ruled out jumping, and the one block width of the tunnels made swimming an impossibility. Movement was tedious - and tense, meaning every decision and action could be the potential difference between winning and losing.

Tango loved it.

Grian lobbed a TNT as hard as he could, and it landed right behind Zedaph. The floor of redstone ignited it immediately. 

Zedaph yelped, and seemed to throw himself against the water with all his might, as though hoping the waves would absorb the shockwaves.

That wasn't how TNT worked, but the distance was enough to not kill him. Grian groaned - and then widened his eyes, as he realized how close Zedaph was to his team base's entrance. All he had to do was deposit the flag, and Team Zedsuma would win the championship.

"MUMBO!" Griam yelled again, the voice reverberating strangely through the maze, the vibrations distorted yet understandable - a clear cry for backup.

"I'm too far!" Mumbo yelled back. "Xisuma blocked me-"

Zedaph was about a dozen blocks away. Tango leaned forward, watching his friend look back to grin triumphantly at Grian and-

Tango physically jumped back, reeling shock as a purple blur tackled Zedaph to the ground. Three TNT explosions simultaneously went off behind him, and as the very glass ceiling Tango stood on seemed to rock with unusual instability, Zedaph disappeared in a shower of code.

_Zedaph blew up._

That wasn't what caught Tango off guard. What shredded his nerves and placed a shocked, horrified yell in his throat was the pair of purple, feathery, water-soaked wings that hung from Grian's back. Even cramped up in the tight space of the arena, rumpled and wet, they seemed every bit as foreboding and majestic as the tales Tango had grown up with made them out to be. 

He couldn't see Grian's expression, and he wasn't sure he could bring himself to move and find out. 

_"Watchers are dark, terrible beings,_ " he had been told since he spawned. The inhabitants of every world had, and even those few End communities held an inherent distrust of them. 

_"Don't let their supposed beauty fool you - they've committed countless atrocities against both the denizens of the Nether and the Overworld. We have waged war since the very beginning to hold back their advances, and are safe in the Deep Nether. But many Overworld realms are not so lucky-"_

Tango bit his lip. Took a deep breath.

The Overworld sky was blue, Grian was a Hermit, and Watchers were a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad group of power hungry jerks. Those were facts.

Tango was a Hermit, they were on Hermitcraft, and no drama with pasts was to be started for any reason. That was also a fact.

The idea stabilized him enough that he blinked, and dragged himself above where Grian was-

-just in time to see the wings disappear, leaving what seemed like a completely normal, albeit tattered looking player shivering in the water.

Right. The game. Zedaph died, so Grian had the other team's flag. Both sides still have a chance-

_Ding._

The final redstone lamp on Team Zedsuma's side lit up, signalling they had transported the flag back and won the game.

"What?" Tango mused, frowning. How did-

"Pulled a switcheroo on you two!" Zedaph's voice shouted triumphantly. Tango whirled to see him heave himself up through the trap door, bounding excitedly over to him.

Tango glanced back down, but Grian was already heading for an exit as well. 

"Wait - so-" Mumbo coughed, running over the glass while droplets of water flew from his hair. "How?"

"At the beginning," Cu-Xisuma said softly. "Zedaph gave me the flag when you two weren't looking."

"Impressive," Tango mused, glad for the momentary distraction.

Grian climbed through the trapdoor and limped over as well, and if there had ever been any trace of apprehension or nervousness he appeared to have long since wiped it clean. His tone was congratulatory as he beamed at Zedaph and Xisuma - well, Tango supposed it was fine to call him Cub, now that the game was over.

"You're the Boom Box champions," Tango informed them, keeping an upbeat smile on his own face. 

"Yay!" Zedaph cheered. He grabbed Cub's shoulders and spun them around in victorious circles. The other Hermit smiled back, albeit a bit dizzyingly. Tango huffed at them amusement. "What do we win?"

"Uhh..." Tango glanced in his inventory, and set down a torch. "Here. Have this torch."

"Hooray!" Zedaph cheered again. Tango chuckled at his friend's antics, and turned to the other team.

Mumbo had a tired smile on his face, watching Zedaph's celebration, but Tango's eyes caught the shape of Grian stumbling towards the black-bordered exit on unsteady legs, as though dragging the weight of his body behind him.

 _Our pasts don't matter on Hermitcraft,_ Tango remembered again. _Only our actions as Hermits._

So many of them were here to escape what they've done, actions they regretted, and though the Watchers had a much more infamous reputation than most… it didn't really matter, did it?

Making up his mind, Tango ran out after him.

"Grian!" he called, letting a stern expression take over. "I need to talk to you about something."

Grian whirled around, and for the first time, Tango saw true fear flash in his eyes as they met his.

It was gone just as quickly, as Grian plastered a grin on his face and blinked bewilderedly.

"Yes, Tango?" he chirped.

 _He's good at this,_ Tango realized. _What else has he hid?_

Well, it wasn't his place to pry.

"You know, even if there aren't really any prizes besides bragging rights, cheating kinda takes the fun out of it all," he said. "I know blowing up Zedaph is a very fun activity, but please stay within the rules next time."

“But you know me!” Grian gasped, pulling a shocked expression. “Following the rules? Scandalous. As you have seen.”

Tango laughed. 

“Whatever you do you’ll always be following _something_ ,” he pointed. “Can’t subvert the universe’s whims if it doesn’t have any. It's not like _you_ can change it.”

“I don’t know, maybe if I pester the devs enough they’ll humor me,” Grian smirked. “I say the universe needs to be kinder to poor old Grian, who can’t even catch a break about a little cheating-”

“Then you’d be following the new rules,” Tango laughed again. 

He hadn’t expected the idea to be so hilarious to him, but it _was._ Perhaps it was the idea of the universe somehow having the sentience to warp the path of justice in a cruel or merciful direction, something all the Hermits and Tango himself certainly wished would happen to resolve their ghosts. Instead of it, in reality, just being a long series of inputs and outputs. 

A notion ridiculous to the point of humor, maybe.

The universe was fair, and unfair, and predictable and not, and it had nothing to do with any sort of will at all, and as Tango stood there in the sunlight with Grian he realized how freeing the idea was.

They determined the outcome of their own lives.

“And you’d _still_ be cheating!” he giggled hysterically. Grian rolled his eyes.

" _Right,_ " he huffed. “Alright, alright. I promise it won't happen again - don’t know what instinct overtook me there."

"A mystery for the ages," Tango said, raising an eyebrow. “To never be solved, stashed away on a wall of questions as unanswered as ones such as ‘who is the salmon ghost?’ and ‘where is Poultry Man’s base?’”

Grian punched his shoulder, wheezing. “Stop it! I swear-”

“It’s fine though,” Tango reassured him. "Because you lost anyway!"

"Well, you didn't have to remind me of that!”

Tango laughed, _again._ "Just making sure you were aware. With all the chaos I wouldn't have blamed you for not even noticing that slip up, to be _perfectly honest._ Have a great day, Grian."

"You too, Tango," Grian said brightly. He slung his elytra over his shoulders once again, rockets already in hand. "Thanks for inviting me to the game. That was really fun!"

And then, with a series of whistling whooshes, Grian was gone. A fading red dot in the endless expanse above, leaving in his wake only tiny white sparks and the faintest whiff of gunpowder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh I had way too much fun with the hidden jokes and references in this one, and Tango certainly did too. Don't worry, the next one crosses over to Season 7.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: Mildly descriptive stuff with swords/arrows + stabbing, and a bit of blood.

Cub fired another series of rockets. He wasn't going to make it in time, he knew - even if his pyramid was closer, Mojang knows where Scar's stuff could have scattered to, with all the nooks and crannies the interior held.

He flew on anyway. Cub had to try, at the very least. For Scar.

The pyramid came into sight, and he angled downwards towards the balcony.

As the honeycomb walls greeted his return, time ran dry. If Cub's internal clock wasn't wrong, that was, which it rarely ever was.

He lowered his rockets with a sigh, glancing around. The floors were bare of items, just as he suspected. 

But as he was about to return to the shopping district, Cub's communicator pinged.

_ <Grian> got your stuff, Scar _

_ <Grian> heading back to Larry _

A faint scratch made Cub whirl around, and he caught a flash of fluffy dark purple raising upwards-

Well, this certainly confirmed some things. Cub honestly couldn’t bring himself to care for any reason but curiosity, but he stepped towards Grian nonetheless.

"Hello," he grinned. "Enjoying your stay, Grian?”

Grian gave him an expression that could have been a glare as he hopped back. His arms cradled a bushel of… _wizard_ _fruits_. 

"It's a very impressive base," he said.

"I assume you found all of Scar's things?" Cub asked, arching an eyebrow. "That was… unusually fast."

"Well, I'm a fast flyer," Grian retorted. "And it's been nice seeing this pyramid, but I need to get back to Scar now."

"Right," Cub acknowledged. "Because you're in such a big hurry."

“Right - very big hurry,” Grian said, inching backwards towards the entrance. The sight was almost comical.

“There’s no need to be nervous, Grian,” Cub laughed. “I see you’re all packed up, hm?”

This was a golden opportunity - it would be such a shame to miss it. 

He decided to spare Grian some warning, at the very least. “You know, Cleo put out a bounty for your head today.”

Grian’s eyes widened, but that was all he managed before Cub’s sword was slamming down his head. 

He dropped with the pressure and threw his body into a sideways roll. Cub had to give him credit for his swiftness.

“Remember - no magical cheating,” he grinned as Grian narrowed his eyes.

“ _Right_ _,_ ” Grian gritted his teeth. 

With a few powerful flaps he was then in the air and diving for the far side of the pyramid. Cub flared his elytra, honed his eyes onto the purple silhouette, and followed. 

Grian was fast, insanely fast. He looped through Cub’s storage space, weaved tightly between intricate redstone, made sharp twists and turns in the vast open spaces Cub had yet to fill. It was all Cub could do to keep up.

So he didn’t. 

After a minute of breathless chasing, Cub steadied himself tightly on a tower’s edge and drew back his crossbow toward the storage below. Grian was on the ground and eyeing his surroundings, evidently with no idea of his opponent’s location. 

Perfect.

_Thunk._

Grian’s garble of pain echoed faintly through his pyramid as the arrow drove deep into his shoulder. He ripped it out with a hiss and void black blood splattered across the terracotta floor. Cub had hoped for a clean shot to the neck, but what’s done was done. 

He nocked another arrow, but Grian had clearly learned from his first mistake. He was flying around now, too fast for an accurate shot to be pinpointed.

And then he was flying towards him, Cub realized, with a gleaming sword in hand.

No matter. Cub vaulted over the tower’s fencing into the interior, and raced down the ladder in jagged steps. The rustle of feathers gradually faded above him.

The inside was dimly lit, carpets and slabs the only things that kept mobs from spawning. Cub continued down, faster and faster, loading his crossbow with a firework in the meanwhile.

Passageways opened to the left and right as he reached the bottom. Cub took the right one.

As he ran into the darkness, it was as though a blindness potion was pouring onto his eyes. The shadows cloaked around him.

The entrance to the passageway was silent. Cub wasn’t fooled, straining his eyes and ears. Grian should know better than to cheat, but even if he did - well, Cub had his own unfair methods.

A bat squeaked quietly. 

A few moments later, tiny wingbeats rustled the air behind him.

Cub whirled around and released the rocket. Through Grian’s pained hiss he quickly reloaded, and fired again. 

A third attempt was knocked away with a diamond sword, enchantments glowing dangerously in the darkness. It swung down towards Cub’s head.

He drew out his own sword and parried it away. The _zing_ of two blades sliding against each other echoed through the hallway, and then echoed again as they both struck once more. 

Cub leaped back, the rustle of his robes heard clear by them both. He retreated backwards while reloading his crossbow, eyeing the advancing position of Grian’s sword - and then he lunged forward. 

HIs blade cleaved through a wall of feathers and fragile bone. A series of snaps and crunches followed its path, painful even to Cub’s own ears. 

He felt a hand reach blindly to grip his other arm. Sharp nails dug in. 

A blossom of pain rippled through his stomach - Grian’s sword, Cub realized, impaling him. He continued slashing through the pain - and finally, found the positioning to fire the crossbow in his other hand.

_Grian went off with a bang due to a firework fired from [Bang Bang!] by cubfan135._

_ <GoodTimeWithScar> what are you guys doing? _

_ <ZombieCleo> Good. He’s a slippery one, about time someone finally caught him... _

With shaking hands, Cub hastily pulled out a regeneration potion and swallowed it in one long gulp. The pain slowly numbed as his flesh healed itself, and Cub pulled out a torch in the meanwhile.

Slowly, by its light, he collected the items scattered across the dark floor, including a warm head with dull, glassy eyes.

Another one to Cleo’s collection, and 50 more points towards a giant pile of diamonds.

...they really _were_ a morbid bunch, weren’t they?

Grian was back within a few minutes. Cub was still grinning as he twirling his newly attained head by the hair, mirroring its previous owner’s scowl.

The wings, now that Cub had a close, clearer look, were a shaded indigo in the dim, cracked light of the pyramid. They vanished in flash as Grian slung an elytra over his shoulder, panting.

“Just give me my stuff back,” he huffed. 

"Of course," Cub said, tossing him his items. Finally, he reached an orange shulker box. “This one’s Scar’s stuff, by the way. Tell him I said hello - and to visit me again sometime. I miss him.”

Grian rolled his eyes, accepting the shulker box.

“How close was I to killing you, anyway?” he asked as he took out some rockets.

“Pretty close, actually,” Cub admitted. “If you’d hit my heart or lasted a few moments longer to do more damage, I probably would have died too. But I was counting on the darkness to reduce accuracy, and the tight space to slow you down, since you made for a bigger target than me. Worst case scenario, I could have just flown back up the tower and left you flightless.”

A mild flash of annoyance crossed Grian’s face, but didn’t ask further. Which was probably for the best, considering the giant, untouched nebula of secrets that hung between them.

“Well, I guess that was fun,” Grian sighed. “Even if I lost.”

His eyes narrowed. “I won’t forget this, though. Watch your back, Cub.”

“Oh, I will,” Cub said, teeth too sharp and grin too wide. “And I look forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the rivalries of youth never end… really though, these are two of the most competitive Hermits. It's fun to push them in a room and say “fight”. Hah. 
> 
> Also, I couldn’t get a reference for what Cub’s crossbow was named, though I vaguely recall him carrying one around early season. So I gave it a name I thought he would reasonably give it, which ended up being “Bang Bang!”
> 
> As always, no pressure but comments are always appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

It was Halloween. Or, as some called it, “Spooky Season.”

Etho wasn’t one for dressing up, but what he did was see a golden opportunity to startle as many of his fellow Hermits as possible. 

And what better place to do it in the scariest dimension, when danger lurked at every corner and lifted the hairs of all that traversed it? 

He landed on the roof of his tiny lantern house and dropped in, glancing around through the glassy orange windows. While he didn’t care for costumes, he _was_ eager to see what his fellow Hermits came up with. And he had heard certain members were doing some activities in the area.

As if right on cue, a figure swooped into the upside-down mansion. Etho blinked at the unnatural speed and seemingly distorted shape. There was something strange about what he had just witnessed, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on...

Well, no better time than the present to investigate.

Grian’s upside-down mansion was big, and the interior much better decorated than when Etho had first explored it. As he entered, however, his eyes were immediately drawn to one particular detail.

The cloaked, winged figure sitting on the giant Nether portal. There was a mask on him - a Watcher mask, Etho realized. 

It was Grian.

Grian was seated on top of the Nether portal with a shining white Watcher mask, engraved purple symbol and everything, cloaked completely in a robe darker than starless nights with white galactic symbols silvering along the edges. 

And there was a massive pair of wings spread out behind him, the faint white tips quickly fading into deep, voidly violet.

Piles of strange clothing were piled on either side of him - Etho could make out gold plated jeans and chicken masks and what looked like a fish bodysuit. 

It made for an oddly normalized sight.

“Grian, what are you doing?” Etho asked as he slowly walked closer. This was much more interesting than a few simple jump scares. He could feel the curiosity overflowing already - and Etho was never one to deny those impulses. 

Grian gave an approximation of a shrug beneath the long, draping robes.

“Trying out Halloween costumes,” he said, gesturing at the pile of outfits around him. His wings fluttered slightly up and down. “Do you think this one’s a bit too obvious?”

“Is… is that your original outfit?” Etho couldn’t stop himself from asking. “From back when you…”

“Yep,” Grian said. “Of course, I would have looked a lot more intimidating on a bedrock throne with a dark hallway of creative mode items, but that’s not really the point anymore. Unless we make a story out of it.”

“That _would_ be fun,” Etho agreed. “Can I join you up there?”

Grian shoved a pile of clothing over the edge. One by one, they streamed downwards to the floor below in a colorful parade. 

He waved an arm towards the empty space beside him. “Go ahead.” 

“How do you see through that mask?” Etho asked as he sat down on the smooth, oddly cool obsidian. He reached out and tapped the curving white covering a few times - solid and pearly, and decidedly lacking in eyeholes. The symbol seemed to stare back at him, carved and shimmering. 

“I don’t,” Grian laughed. “People always overthink these things with all the rumors - it’s for intimidation and branding. Our magic works the same regardless of whether or not we put a piece of wood on our faces. Why do you think we’re known for teleporting everywhere?”

“Fair enough,” Etho chuckled. “It would make storylines interesting, definitely.”

“Can you imagine the premise?” Grian snorted. “Xisuma, Doc, and a Watcher named Xelqua stroll into a world. Doc says, ‘this is my test world.’ Xelqua says, ‘I’m claiming this for the Watchers - as my personal test world.’ And Xisuma smacks both of them with a stick and declares it Hermitcraft Season 7.”

“Doc and Xelqua do deserve to get smacked with sticks,” Etho agreed. “The two of you get tediously annoying rather often - especially when you’re in each other’s vicinity.”

Grian let out a noise of mock offense. “Don’t compare me with Doc. He’s so _full_ of himself, someone has to keep him in line.”

Etho huffed quietly, leaning back. “Takes on to know one, huh? Could you possess him to be more quiet?”

“Gosh, them I’d have to listen to his thoughts all day,” Grian said. He closed his eyes and shuddered in a way that made it seem as though he truly found the idea completely and utterly repulsive. It amused Etho, to say the least. “Who would ever go through that trouble just for a little control? Trust me, there are some minds you _never_ want to delve into.”

“Like mine, hopefully?” Etho asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Probably,” Grian wrinkled his nose. “You’re weird, man, and older than most of them. Also Joe - I don’t think any Watcher would last a day possessing him before they themselves went crazy. Actually, that goes for most of us. We’re all kind of insane, including me.”

“Well, I’m certainly not denying that,” Etho laughed. “Did you get kicked out of Watcher society for being too annoying?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Grian snorted. He pulled the mask off his face, tracing the shaped crescent sides. “These things are actually pretty comfy if they fit right. I use them as sleep masks sometimes.”

“Can I have one?” Etho asked, ribbing his side.

“Maybe,” Grian giggled. “That would be a sight to stumble onto, wouldn’t it?”

“Certainly,” Etho agreed. “We should put them on a sleeping Hermit sometime - that would be hilarious.”

Grian gasped in delight. “That is an _amazing_ idea. Oh dear Mojang, Etho, you are _brilliant. The reactions we could get._ ”

“I know,” Etho preened. It was a terrifyingly amazing prank - simple and effective. 

Oh, they were going to have _fun_ with this. 

“Bask in my glory, pathetic mortal,” he added.

They both broke into a series of hysterical laughter. 

“Really though-” Grian managed to wheeze out after a while. “The costume is a bit much, huh?”

“Probably,” Etho said. “It's unsettling in the traditional sense, maybe - but there’s more unconventional and effective ways of being scary. You just have to think outside the box.”

“Well,” Grian grinned. “That ‘s our specialty, isn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grian and Etho are two chaotic little bastards in their own ways and you can’t convince me shoving the two together will result in anything other than utter chaos.
> 
> Okay, yes, this one if very much toeing the line about asking questions, but technically the topic of questions about Grian’s wings never came up and Etho was only doing theoretical speculation about Hermitcraft, not Watcher stuff inherently, so it still counts. And I did say this thing gets more and more self aware in a way...
> 
> As always, no pressure but let me know what you thought?


	6. Chapter 6

Doc was walking through the jungle.

It was quiet. Oddly so.

Since Season 5, jungles had always left a burning, painful impression writhing within him, hidden foliage whispering, calling, _grabbing -_ Xisuma had checked, however.

It wasn’t anything in the code. The haunted whispers were all in his mind. 

_Trauma,_ Joe had said, reassuring him gently. _That’s alright. You’re allowed to be scared, Doc; it’s not a weakness you can help. Don’t beat yourself up over it._

Doc hated how right Joe had turned out to be.

But it was different now. Bdubs, Beef, Etho - they had all returned to him. To Hermitcraft. The Jungle’s influence was gone, and so Doc had decided it was time to conquer his fear once and for all.

Starting with the jungles approximately a fourth of Hermitcraft had apparently decided to settle in, for some strange reason. Even without an irrational fear, jungles were still so… jungly. Loud. Crowded. Dark. Not fit for inhabitation. The logic was sound.

Doc sighed, thrashing away another cluster of bush of leaves with his sword. Admittedly, the air was nice; humid and hot like he preferred. 

Everything else about jungles, though. Absolutely terrible.

He scowled, stomping forward. How deep into this stupid place had they decided to settle? Surely he would have seen someone’s ridiculous build by now.

Doc craned his head up, but all he spotted were a few shafts of warm, glowing sunlight dotted across a canopy of vibrant leaves, a teasing curtain to any sign of structure.

He really shouldn’t have challenged himself to do this without an elytra. Conquering fears or not, this was definitely not worth the effort.

But Doc was never one to back down from a challenge.

* * *

What felt like hours later, when the sunlight had faded away and blinking night stars took their place in the canopy holes above, he heard humming.

Doc swiveled around, gauging the source of the noise. It came from somewhere above in the trees. 

What lunatic was humming in the middle of the jungle _and_ in the middle of the night?

And seriously? _“How Do I Craft This Again?”_ Was anyone on Hermitcraft even old enough to remember that one, besides maybe Etho?

...actually, Doc would not put it past Etho to do something like this. He was always up to strange ideas, and wasn't music a skill of his?

An idea formed in his head, and he grabbed into it.

Doc smirked, scaling up a nearby tree with practiced ease, going higher and higher until he was just below its topmost branches. He glanced around.

Someone was sitting on a platform a little ways away, supported by a series of interwoven branches below. A few lanterns were placed on the platform, and he could make out the shape of a dark blue parrot. 

Doc silently slid to the branches of a closer tree, straining his eyes-

-and tried to stifle a gasp. 

The figure whipped around wildly, features still too dark to make out. They seemed to calm down after a minute of continued silence, and that was when Doc realized.

“Did you hear that, Beak?”

It was Grian. Grian had a pair of giant purple wings, and Grian had clearly been doing something with them, wrapping the left one around his bunched up legs. 

The parrot gave a confused chirp, tilting its head.

“I know, I know,” Grian sighed. “I’m _so_ paranoid, but you know what? I think I have a right to be, okay? I swear, every Hermit is completely insane, including me. We’re all insane idiots. Maybe that’s why we’ve all decided to lock ourselves away in a single world and play pretend wars. It’s certainly more than _I_ deserve, you know, given what I've done.”

Doc closed his eyes. He'd read the texts. The rumors that circulated through the entire universe which encompassed their countless worlds.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that, Xelqua,” another voice said. Doc stiffened, glancing around, but it had come from Grian’s direction.

“You know it's true,” Grian said - and that was when Doc saw the communicator in his hands. His suspicions were confirmed when the voice talked again, with a tiny crackle at the beginning.

“That’s a really bad way to think of yourself. Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“Yes, I’m perfectly sure,” Grian said. He sprinkled a handful of tiny black seeds in front of the parrot, and went back to picking at his feathery wings.

The wings. It was such a strange sight to see.

“You just called them ‘insane idiots’,” the voice said with a clear note of concern. “And didn’t you say they invited you without any warning?”

“Well - I guess. That’s how we do invites, though. It wasn’t like I _had_ to accept.”

“Xel-”

“It’s Grian.”

“Right, right. Grian. So let me get this straight - these Hermits sent you an invite mysteriously, out of nowhere, to join their super secret world wherein if you accepted you would have to be just as secretive as them and also live permanently in said world.”

“Well, we could always leave-”

“No, listen. Then, when you, like a reasonable person, rejected the offer - they sent it to you _again._ And when you continued to express disinterest, they sent one of their members to try and convince you personally your best chance of survival was with them.”

“Mumbo was a good friend of mine even back then, Salted.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that even if you needed a place outside of Watcher territory, you could have gone to us! You know, _Wynncraft,_ the massive public server world you built from scratch and ran and have complete control over, instead of some random survival group in a far-flung world where you don’t even have access to _creative_ mode, let alone are able to use your powers. You were going to come to us for shelter, you were telling me so, and then this - this ‘Hermitcraft’ came along and basically pestered and lied to you until you decided to just spend the rest of your life with a bunch of strangers?”

“They’re not strangers, Salted. They’re my friends. And they all got invited the same way, _plus_ you know Hermitcraft’s reputation!”

“Xe-Grian, this is _textbook_ gaslighting, down to how abuse breeds abuse and utilizes reputation to do so. No one outside the group knows _anything_ about how Hermitcraft actually works. Are you _absolutely sure_ you don’t want us to commence a rescue operation? Taurtis has been pushing for us to get you back for ages.”

“Tell Taurtis that I love him, but that he needs to shut up and stop trying to invade Hermitcraft. He’s on the blacklist, Salted. Do you know how many players have gotten so persistent we had to put them on the blacklist? Very few.”

“But-”

“For what I hope is the last time, _please do not stage a rescue operation._ You’ll only embarrass me. I shouldn’t be messing with the world magic to communicate with players outside the world in the first place.”

“ _Grian!_ Cutting off communication with outside friends and family is the biggest thing a cult does to integrate members!”

_“It’s not a cult!”_

“I wish I could believe that, but you haven’t given me much reason to! Just the opposite, in fact-”

Doc decided he’s had enough as a spectator.

He twisted off the branch in a leap.

The platform thumped beneath him, jungle planks shaking. The parrot chirped.

“If I may,” Doc said flatly. Grian glared at him with a fierceness that internally shuddered his bones, not that Doc would ever admit Grian was one of the few people that had the ability to unnerve him. 

“What are you doing?” Grian hissed.

“Hah!” the voice from Grian’s communicator yelled triumphantly. “They even spy on your conversations, _tell_ me how that’s not a cult-”

“We’re not preventing him from leaving,” Doc rolled his eyes. “In fact, some of us would find it an improvement.”

“Some of us would find an improvement if _you_ left,” Grian retorted. “What’s it to you, Doc?”

“Mysterious conversations in the middle of the night?” Doc snapped. “And - _that._ ” 

He pointed at the wings, which seemed to flutter indignantly under the accusative nature of his tone.

“Salted, I’m hanging up,” Grian said darkly. “I’ll call back later.”

“Just so you know, even the Evolutionists think you’re in a cult and need help!” the voice called as Grian reached for the off button. “And they’re still under Watcher control, so that’s saying a lot!”

“Bye, Salted,” Grian said firmly. And then, the communicator shut itself off.

A memory flashed in Doc’s mind, about time travel - _update_ travel, winding the world's code itself back, tearing at the fabric of reality-

Xisuma's words to every new member, both a reassurance and warning - flashed in his mind.

_Hermitcraft is a refuge. Our pasts don't matter here._

He thought of the texts, the accounts, the snippets and pieces of vague information gathered through the universe’s many updates, from the very beginning of players-

"What's with the wings?" Doc asked, narrowing his eyes. 

Grian closed his mouth, and something like defiance shined through his eyes.

That was always the trait of Grian that ticked him off the most.

Doc scowled, stepping closer, taller.

"What's it to you?" Grian scoffed. He produced a comb, constructed from bone and guardian spikes, and began - or rather, restarted, Doc realized - to brush the dark feathers. Because that’s what he had been doing in the conversation. 

_Brushing his wings._

It was ridiculous and he didn’t know why.

"Is _this_ why you could make the time machine?" Doc demanded. "Was the entire thing just a farce for you to rewrite the world's code? What else have you done under our noses?"

"That was just a test for my powers," Grian snapped. "Don't be ridiculous, it's not like I actually rewrote time or anything. That's not how update rollback works. _You_ were the one who got all hissy and insistent about 'containment' and 'safety' and blew everything out of proportion with your Area 77 nonsense. Like you have any right to talk about keeping secrets with that portal of yours."

"It was because _you_ were always suspicious," Doc snapped. "And now I have undeniable proof that-"

"-I'm a Watcher, I did bad things, yadda yadda," Grian rolled their eyes. "Oh, sorry, is this supposed news to you? Or any other Hermit? Do we need a _dramatic, shocking_ reveal? Go right on ahead, I won't stop you." 

That made Doc quiet. 

Grian had a point. None of the other Hermit would particularly care, beyond perhaps a curious fascination. 

...so why did he care so much?

"Promise me you won't harm Hermitcraft," he growled, suppressing a shakiness in his hands.

"Oh yes, after an entire season without incident, I am still totally planning some crazy, elaborate scheme to orchestrate Hermitcraft's downfall," Grian scoffed. "Do you hear yourself, Doc? Why are you so fixated on this anyway?"

Doc also hated how much sense that made.

Why _did_ he have such a fixation over Grian being a Watcher? One could argue it was because, unlike professions, a Watcher wasn't really a thing you could stop being, given their naturally spawned powersets. There were layers of history and distrust that ran between the two, an overflowing river of uncertainty. But there was more.

_Trauma is okay, Doc._

He sighed.

"Just - I need to - to know. Tell me about that update rollback. How it works. How your - how your wings work. How all of this works."

Grian gave him a strange look, one Doc couldn't quite decipher the meaning of. 

But then he nodded, and spread his wings out. Spots of moonlight danced across the feathers like tiny silver bees, and Doc found himself breathless at the enchanting, mesmerizing sight, like dreams higher than the stars above. 

"Well, I guess you know most of the written lore surrounding the Watchers," Grian said, abruptly snapping Doc out of his trance. He felt a brief flash of annoyance at himself for becoming so distracted, but it quickly faded as Grian continued.

"Some of it is right, some of it is wrong, most of it is somewhere in between. And I suppose you want to know about the wings first?"

Doc nodded. The feathers shimmered as they waved to a faint wind, an otherworldly curtain of secrets and sorcery.

"Well, for starters, it is true that only Watchers have wings like these. We're technically a sub-branch of voidwalkers, so..."

* * *

_Watchers have long been considered among the most mysterious and powerful beings in the universe, rivaled only by their counterparts, the Listeners, and perhaps the most powerful of vexes. Infamously defined by their feathery wings and masks, they are the subject of numerous myths and legends, and a fascinating study for any player interested in understanding the way code operates._

_There are some little known, but nonetheless confirmed true facts about the Watchers. There are countless more mistruths and misunderstandings._

_What I have always been fascinated by are the descriptions of their_ presence _._

_Watchers are also voidwalkers - a subspecies, if you will, though I use the terms "species" lightly. What sets them apart as a distinct group are three main things-_

_First, their social structure, a by all and few accounts highly rigid and unforgiving system. As opposed to most voidwalkers who live alone or amongst players, Watchers inhabit a particular area of the Deep End they have claimed as territory, together and in regular communication. The details are largely unknown, but it only adds to their efficiency in overtaking worlds._

_Second, their abilities are distinctly different from that of other voidwalkers. There seems to be an ability to control players in a manner not unlike vexes, while most other voidwalkers can only ever affect environment code. And like vexes, they can permakill. While they seem to spawn with the abilities, the conditions for a Watcher to spawn are still a mystery._

_Lastly, their wings and mask. Two signature features a Watcher has never been seen without, at least by players - or so we believe for now, anyway. The mask's function is unknown, beyond the aesthetic purpose, but the wings do, in fact, work. Watchers fly faster than other voidwalkers - some speculate they are the fastest entities in the universe, though no doubt the vexes would contest that claim._

_But, back to their presence - it is said there are few sights which are dually so unimaginably beautiful and mind-breakingly terrifying as a Watcher in their full power, wings reaching towards the vast endlessness above. The majority of eyewitness accounts agree that the sight has the power to completely transfix an individual, to overpower all logic and rationale._

_Is this phenomenon merely psychological? Or is there actual code and magic at play? There are no answers, only speculation. No Watcher has ever revealed their secrets._

_Nonetheless, it is a player’s nature to keep searching. We can only hope the journey does not end in the void of regret._

-Excerpt from "The Unsolved Mysteries of Watchers" by InTheLittleWood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys did you know that Evo lore went on after Grian left? Shocking, aint it. Listeners were introduced. They’re a canon thing.
> 
> And yeah I saw Wynncraft as well as some other stuff brought up a few times in the comments - some of y'all had no idea how close your speculations were lol.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading this far!! I certainly had plenty of fun planning and writing this out. Fun fact, the fic I have called “The Watcher” was originally supposed to be part of this last chapter too, but it got so long and style so different I decided to make it its own fic. As can be told by that, I’ve been planning this fic since July. I started writing this in August, and worked on it on and off until Maddening Circles was complete and I could finally focus on it. Was so happy when I finally got it finished enough to begin publishing.
> 
> As always, no pressure but comments and thoughts appreciated!


End file.
